DICK'S DIPLOMACY
Running to the door, I saw Dick striding down toward the cabin, while
behind him on a stout pony rode Uncle Tom. Just as I stepped out, the
pair approached one of the drifts of snow which ridged the valley, and
into this Dick plunged at once. Though it was up to his waist, he pretty
soon forced his way through, when it was Uncle Tom's turn.
Evidently it was not the first time the pony had tackled a snow-drift,
for he showed no disposition to shirk the task, but wading in up to his
knees, he did the rest of the passage in a series of short leaps, very
like buck-jumping; a mode of progression extremely discomforting to his
plump, short-legged rider.
"Oh! Ah!" gasped Uncle Tom at each jump. "Heavens! What a country! Dick,
you imp of darkness, I thought you said it was an easy trail."
At this I could not help laughing, when Uncle Tom, who had not
perceived me before, transferred his attention to me.
"You young scamp, Frank!" cried he, shaking his fist at me as I ran
forward to meet him. "This is a nice way to treat your respected
uncle--first scare him half to death and then laugh at him. Lucky for me
there's only one of you: if you had been born twins I should have been
worn to a rag long ago. How are you, old fellow?" he went on, reaching
down to shake hands with me. "Any the worse for your adventure?"
"Not a bit," I replied. "Sound as a bell, thank you."
"Thank Dick, you mean. I'll tell you what, Frank," he continued, leaning
down and whispering; Dick having walked on toward the house: "that's an
uncommonly fine young fellow, in my opinion. His coming down in the
storm last night to tell me that you were all safe was a thing that few
boys of his age would have done and fewer still would have thought of
doing. Ah! This is the professor, I suppose. Why, I've seen him before!"
So saying, Uncle Tom jumped to the ground, and hastening forward, held
out his hand, exclaiming:
"How are you, Herr Bergen? I'm glad to meet you again. We are old
acquaintances, though I had forgotten your name, if I ever heard it."
"I believe you are right, Mr. Allen," responded the professor. "Your
face seems familiar, though I am ashamed to say I cannot recall when or
where we met."
"I can remind you," said Uncle Tom. "It was at Fort Garland, six or
seven years ago. I was on my way to investigate an alleged gold
discovery in the Taos mountains, when you rode into the fort to ask the
cavalry vet to give you something to dress the wounds of a burro which
had been clawed by a mountain-lion. I got into conversation with you,
and learning that you also wanted some cartridges for a little Ballard
rifle, I gave you a box of fifty. Do you remember?"
"I remember very well," replied the professor. "The cartridges were for
Dick: he learned to shoot with a Ballard. Well, this is a great pleasure
to meet an old acquaintance like this. Come in out of the cold. Romero
will take your pony."
Soon we were all seated before the fire, Uncle Tom puffing away his
aches and pains with the smoke of the inevitable cigar, when the
professor, turning to him, asked:
"And how long do you intend to stay in camp, Mr. Allen? Will this snow
drive you out?"
"Not at all," replied Uncle Tom. "I expect to be here a couple of weeks,
in spite of the snow. The drifts will settle in a day or two, and the
miners will break trails to their claims, and then I shall be able to
get about--there won't be any difficulty. Though if it were going to be
as hard work as it was coming up here this morning I might as well go
home again at once--it took us an hour to make the one mile from town."
"You came to inspect the mines, I understand. Do you confine yourself to
silver mines, or do you deal in mines of all sorts?"
"Silver and gold," replied Uncle Tom. "Though, as it happens, I am on
the lookout this time for a copper mine as well. Before I left St. Louis
I notified a Boston firm, with whom I have frequent dealings, of my
intention to come here, and received from them in reply a telegram,
saying, 'Find us a good copper mine. Price no object.' There was no
explanation, and I am rather puzzled to understand why they should
suddenly branch out into 'coppers' in this way."
"I expect the explanation is simple enough," remarked the professor.
"What is it, then?" asked Uncle Tom.
"To any one watching the progress of science," replied the professor,
puffing away at his big porcelain pipe, "even to me, here on the ragged
edge of civilization, it is obvious that a new era is close at hand; a
new force rapidly coming to the front."
"Electricity?" asked Uncle Tom.
"Yes, electricity. The science is still in the egg, as you may say, but
to those who have ears to hear, the shell is beginning to crack. I am
convinced that before long we shall be lighting our streets with
electricity and using it in a thousand ways as a mechanical power. The
consequence will be an immense increase in the demand for copper; and
that, I have no doubt, is why you have been asked to look out for a
copper mine: they want to be ready when the time comes. What is this,
Dick?"
At the first mention of the words, "copper mine," the thoughts of Dick
and myself had, of course, instantly reverted to the King Philip mine,
and I was on the point of introducing the subject, when Dick, catching
my eye, signed to me to keep quiet. Rising from his chair, he stepped
softly to the rack where the rifles hung and took down the Mexican's
arrow, which he had put there the evening before. It happened that we
had not mentioned the episode of the wolves and the Mexican when
describing to the professor our struggle homeward through the
snow-storm, and consequently, when my companion laid the arrow on the
table close to his elbow, it was only natural that the old gentleman
should exclaim, "What is this, Dick?"
Very briefly, Dick related how he had come by it, merely stating that we
had seen a Mexican shoot a wolf; that the Mexican had run away when we
hailed him; and that we had gone and picked up his arrow. I wondered
rather why he did not call attention to the copper arrow-head; but Dick
knew what he was about, as I very soon saw: he intended to let the
professor discover it for himself, which a man of his habits of close
observation was certain to do. In fact, the old gentleman had no sooner
taken the arrow into his hands than he exclaimed:
"Why, this arrow-head is made of copper! A Mexican, you say? Then he
probably came from Hermanos. You remember, Dick, how all the people
down there---- Why, Mr. Allen, here's the very thing! You want a copper
mine? Well, here is a copper mine all ready to your hand! All you have
to do is----"
"To find it," interjected Dick, laughing.
"That is true," the professor assented, laughing himself. "I had
forgotten that little particular for the moment, Dick. I'm afraid it is
not quite so ready to your hand as I was leading you to suppose, Mr.
Allen; but that it is there, somewhere in the Dos Hermanos mountains, I
feel sure."
Thereupon the professor proceeded to tell the story that Dick had
already told me, giving some further details of the information he had
derived from the Spanish gentleman, Don Blake.
"It appears to have been a mine of some consequence," said the
professor. "The records covered a period of fifteen years, and during
the last five years of the time the shipments were constant and large.
It is fairly sure, I think, that the product was native copper----"
"Sure to be," interrupted Uncle Tom. "It would never have paid to ship
any waste product so far. In fact, I am surprised that they should ship
even native copper such a long distance."
"Yes; but as they did so, I think the inference is that the metal was
plentiful and easy to mine."
"That is a reasonable assumption," said Uncle Tom, thoughtfully nodding
his head. "What beats me, though," he went on, "is that the memory of
the spot should have been so totally lost. Considering that the mine was
producing for fifteen years, there must be many traces of the work done,
such as the waste dump, the old road or trail, and so forth: you can't
run a mine for that length of time and leave no marks. It is a wonder to
me that the place has never been rediscovered."
"I don't think there is anything surprising in that," replied the
professor. "The villagers of Hermanos, agricultural people, seldom go
five miles from home; it is only old Galvez' _vaqueros_, his cow-men,
who would be likely to come across the traces of mining, and if they
did, those peons are such incurious, unenterprising people they would
pay no attention. Besides which, I gathered that even the cow-men never
went up into the Dos Hermanos mountains: it is not a good cattle
country--rough granite and limestone, little water and scant pasturage.
Consequently, the cattle range southward toward the Santa Claras,
instead of westward to the Dos Hermanos, and the Twin Peaks, therefore,
remain in their solitary glory, untouched by the foot of man; and
probably they have so remained ever since the King Philip mine was
abandoned, a hundred and fifty years ago."
For a full minute Uncle Tom remained silent, thoughtfully blowing out
long spirals of cigar smoke, but presently he roused up again and said:
"There is one thing more I should like to ask you, Professor, and that
is, why you conclude that the King Philip mine is in the Dos Hermanos
mountains?"
"For this reason," replied our friend: "In the first place, many of the
reports were dated from the _Casa del Rey_. Of course, it is likely
enough that there are other _Casas del Rey_ in other parts of the
country, but besides the frequent mention of the King's House, there was
also mention of Indian fights at different places: 'at the crossing of
the Perdita,' for instance, and 'near the spring by Picture Buttes';
then there was the record of a snow-blockade on the Mosca Pass, in the
Santa Claras; another of a terrible dust-storm on the Little Cactus
Desert, 'with the loss of one man and three mules'; and so forth. Now, a
line running through these and other places mentioned would bring you
into the Mescalero valley at its southern end, and there is no doubt in
my mind that the _Casa del Rey_ named in the reports is the King's House
down there at Hermanos."
"It does seem so, doesn't it?" responded Uncle Tom. "Look here,
professor," he went on, suddenly jumping out of his chair and casting
his cigar stump into the fire, "I must make an attempt to find that
copper mine. It does, as you say, seem all ready to my hand. But how to
do it, is the question. I can't go myself--can't spare the time--so the
only way, I suppose, is to hire some prospector, if I can."
"I don't think you can get one," said the professor, shaking his head;
"at least, not here in Mosby. They are all too intent on hunting for
silver, and I doubt if you could persuade one of them to waste a season
in searching for a metal so commonplace as copper, the value of which is
rather prospective than immediate. I doubt very much if you could get
one to go."
"I suppose not," replied Uncle Tom. "And you can hardly blame them,
either, when you consider that by the expenditure of the same amount of
labor a man may come across a rich vein of silver, every ounce of which
he knows to be worth a dollar and twenty cents."
"Just so," the professor assented.
"What am I to do, then?" asked Uncle Tom. "Give it up? Seems a pity,
doesn't it, when, more than likely, the old workings are lying there
plain to view, only waiting for some one with his eyes open to pass that
way. Still, if I can't get a man----"
"Take a boy," suggested Dick, cutting in unexpectedly.
Uncle Tom whirled round on his heels and stared at him; the professor
removed his long pipe from his mouth and stared at him too; while Dick
himself sat bolt upright in his chair, a broad and genial grin
overspreading his countenance.
For some seconds they all maintained these attitudes in silence, when
Uncle Tom suddenly broke into a hearty laugh.
"You young scamp!" cried he, shaking his forefinger at Dick. "I believe
that's what you've been aiming at all the time."
"That's just what we have, Mr. Allen," replied my companion. "Frank and
I were talking about it yesterday, saying what fun it would be to go and
hunt for the old mine; though we never expected to get the chance. But
when you began to talk about copper mines, we cocked our ears, of
course, thinking that here, perhaps, _was_ a chance after all--and--and
if you _can't_ get a man, Mr. Allen, why not send a boy? Would you let
me go, Professor?"
Our two elders looked at each other, and very anxiously we looked at our
two elders. Not a word did either of them say, until the professor,
rising from his chair and knocking out the ashes of his pipe upon the
hearthstone, remarked quietly:
"Go out and chop some wood, boys. I want to talk to Mr. Allen."
Regarding this order as a hopeful sign, out we went, and for a long
half-hour we feverishly hacked at the heap of poles outside, making a
rather indifferent job of it, I suspect, until a tapping at the window
attracted our attention and we saw Uncle Tom beckoning us to come in.
How anxiously we scanned their countenances this time, any one will
guess. Both men were standing with their backs to the fire, Uncle Tom
smoking a fresh cigar and the professor puffing away again at his pipe,
both of them looking so solemn that I thought to myself, "It's no go,"
and my spirits fell accordingly; but looking again at Uncle Tom I
detected a twitching at the corner of his mouth which sent them up again
with a bound.
"Well, Uncle Tom!" I cried. "What's it to be?"
"It is a serious matter," replied my guardian, with all the solemnity of
a judge passing sentence. "The professor and I have discussed it very
earnestly, and we have decided--that you shall go!"